


Push It

by dracoqueen22



Series: Number One Crush [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, Cock Rings, Figging, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Sticky Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, there's only one way to trick a trickster. Pity, that he has to enjoy it so much. Written for the twinsxratch community on livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push It

They'd bound his arms behind his back, thick coils of rope that wound from his elbows to his wrists. He couldn't move even if he wanted to.  
  
He was on his knees, legs splayed wide, all with the help of a spreader bar. Another brilliant human invention. Sunstreaker must have gotten into his collection of human porn because otherwise, Sideswipe was pretty sure his twin couldn't have come up with it on his own.  
  
Or Ratchet had something to do with it. That mech was old and crafty, especially when irked.  
  
And if not for the collar wrapped around his throat, linked to a thin length of chain which was then attached to the bar spreading his legs, Sideswipe might have found himself toppling forward. As it was, his balance was a precarious thing.  
  
He felt open and exposed. Completely vulnerable. He assumed that they meant for him to feel this way, and if he weren't so fragging aroused by it, he might have been concerned.  
  
Sideswipe assumed they considered this a punishment of some kind. He was pretty sure it wasn't going to work, but if they wanted to spend the night interfacin' him stupid, well, he wasn't going to argue either.  
  
This was what he got for recharging peacefully next to his lovers. They seemed to think it the perfect time to take advantage of him.  
  
Just rewards, Ratchet would claim.  
  
Pfft. Okay, so there was the one time Sideswipe had used their own recharging frames to his advantage, but this and that were two different things. Besides, neither of them protested either at the time or after the fact!  
  
Little did he know they'd been plotting revenge this entire time.  
  
The door to the berthroom whooshed open, prompting a whuff of displaced air, which puffed cool and enticing over Sideswipe. He felt it most prominently over his valve, open and locked in place by medical codes. _Ratchet_ 's medical codes, the devious Pitspawn.  
  
A shudder wracked Sideswipe's plating. A pearl of lubricant beaded within his valve, calipers drawing down in anticipation. He didn't know what to expect, and if the smugness filtering across the bond from Sunstreaker were any indication, Sideswipe knew he was in for a Pit of a night.  
  
“I'm going to be late for my shift,” Sideswipe called out as the open doorway revealed... nothing. And no one for that matter.  
  
A chuckle bubbled up from beyond. “Since when have you ever cared about showing up late?” Sunstreaker asked, just out of sight.  
  
Sideswipe gave a token tug to his restraints but they didn't budge. Medical-grade? Ratchet always had the good toys. “That's totally not the point, bro.”  
  
“You've been excused from your shift,” Ratchet said from somewhere Sideswipe couldn't see. “Your medic says so.”  
  
Primus. They had thought that far ahead? Another shiver of anticipation danced down Sideswipe's backstrut. A bead of lubricant dribbled out of his valve, dampening the berth beneath him.  
  
Would they leave him waiting all night?  
  
A frustrated whine left Sideswipe before he could stop himself. He tugged at his arms, the ropes refusing to budge.  
  
Soft chuckling floated in from the open doorway. “Think he's getting desperate?” Sideswipe heard Ratchet say.  
  
“Desperate enough,” Sunstreaker replied, and then they finally came inside, Sunstreaker looking far too smug for Sideswipe's comfort and Ratchet's face completely devoid of an expression, which was probably even more worrisome.  
  
“Comfortable?” Ratchet asked, giving Sideswipe's posture a long, measuring look. The smallest of grins curled his lips.  
  
Sideswipe huffed a laugh. “Could fall into recharge just like this,” he boasted.  
  
Sunstreaker snickered, approaching the berth, one hand dragging lightly down Sideswipe's right arm. “We'll see about that.”  
  
“So far, all I've seen is that you two are doing your best to ignore me,” Sideswipe declared, more than ready to get this party started. Lust throbbed in his spark, his valve clenched down on nothing, and his spike thumped at his panel, locked as it was thanks to fragging Ratchet.  
  
Sunstreaker tickled at his elbow joint; Ratchet chuckled.  
  
“Can't have that, can we?” the medic said and pressed closer, one hand flattening on Sideswipe's chestplate. “Not after we went through all this trouble.”  
  
Sideswipe glanced from one lover to the other, his twin heavily blocking him and Ratchet's energy field as unreadable as always. “Prove it,” Sideswipe challenged.  
  
Hot ex-vents washed over Sideswipe's plating as Sunstreaker leaned closer, nibbling at Sideswipe's audial. He squirmed, more lubricant dripping to the berth beneath him.  
  
“You're making quite the mess,” Ratchet said, dipping a hand between Sideswipe's legs, a single finger tracing the rim of his valve.  
  
Sideswipe's pelvis arched, pushing toward the finger, trying to encourage it to go deeper. The sensors alit with pleasure and he panted a ventilation.  
  
“Would make a bigger one if you'd just do something,” he said and, no, that wasn't a whine, even though it totally was.  
  
Ratchet's smirk widened as he slipped a finger into Sideswipe's valve, curling it just right to trace the sensors lining the inner rim. Sideswipe shuddered, spark throbbing.  
  
Sunstreaker's glossa stroked over his audial, eliciting more curls of pleasure to build in Sideswipe's internals. A flare of heat throbbed through him from helm to pede. “You might regret saying that later.”  
  
“He'll regret challenging me here in the next few minutes,” Ratchet retorted and his hand vanished from Sideswipe's chestplate, popping open one of the panels on his forearm.  
  
Sideswipe watched, curious, as Ratchet withdrew something that more or less resembled a false spike. It was metallic in color, ridged, and of an appealing size. Toys? Pshaw. Like Sideswipe hadn't ever faced those before. Bring it on, baby.  
  
Sunstreaker chuckled deviously, nipping at Sideswipe's audial a final time before drawing back. “This isn't a mere toy.”  
  
“No, it isn't,” Ratchet agreed with a mischievous lilt of his vocalizer. He twirled it in his fingers. “But I'm sure you can handle it, can't you?”  
  
Sideswipe tilted his helm, shoulders straining at the bonds. “Of course I can.”  
  
Ratchet stroked his valve one last time before pulling his finger free, bringing it up to his mouth to clean off with a noisy pop. Sideswipe worked his intake, watching the motion with eager optics.  
  
“We'll see,” Ratchet replied and brought the toy closer, lowering his hand to nudge it closer to Sideswipe's valve.  
  
Sideswipe clenched and unclenched his fists. The waiting was torturous. His frame was already dumping heat into the air, cooling fans whirring away. He needed to be touched. He needed something, frag it!  
  
The head of the toy nudged at his valve, brushing across the anterior sensors. Sideswipe smothered a moan, bucking impatiently, but a hand on his hip silently ordered him to be still. Practically torture in itself!  
  
Ratchet's optics darkened toward midnight, his ventilations becoming shallower as he slowly pushed the toy up into Sideswipe's valve. The cool metal slid across the lubricated walls and this time, the moan did escape him.  
  
His valve clenched down, in response to being filled, and still Ratchet thrust. Pushing it deeper and deeper until the head of it nudged the deepest node within Sideswipe's valve. His plating clattered, frame trembling, need building itself to a fine frenzy.  
  
Then Ratchet let the toy go, did something Sideswipe couldn't see, and his valve panel snapped shut, trapping the toy inside. He waited, expecting vibrations or some kind of pumping action, but nothing. The toy was docile, still, sitting there and filling him but doing little else. Nonetheless, he clenched down on it, the pressure against his sensors just enough to drive him to distraction.  
  
“That's it?” Sideswipe demanded as Ratchet stepped back, still looking far too smug.  
  
“Wait for it,” Sunstreaker said, circling around behind Ratchet, hands grasping the medic's shoulders as he pressed against Ratchet's aft.  
  
Sideswipe squirmed, impatient. He felt nothing, frag it. Well, except for the heated stares his lovers were giving him. Ratchet's optics were a deep, ocean blue. Sunstreaker's arousal pulsed hot and heavy across their bond, even as he lowered his helm to nibble at Ratchet's neck cables.  
  
Ratchet released a sigh of pleasure, tilting his helm to give Sunstreaker better access. He even leaned further against Sunstreaker, just as an arm wrapped around him from behind.  
  
Not fair. Not at all.  
  
Here Sideswipe was, tied up with a toy in his valve that didn't do a fragging thing, no one was touching him, and his lovers were too busy touching each other to help him out.  
  
His vocalizer spat a burst of static. “I don't feel anything!” Sideswipe exclaimed, and it wasn't a whine that time either.  
  
Except where it was.  
  
“You don't?” Sunstreaker arched an orbital ridge at him.  
  
“No.” Sideswipe lower lipplate jutted out.  
  
His hips squirmed.  
  
Sunstreaker smirked, lust slithering across their link.  
  
Ratchet's grin widened, radiating satisfaction.  
  
What was that?  
  
Sideswipe's hips twitched again. The toy hadn't moved but his valve was starting to... tingle. The slight chill of the metal was long since gone, warmed by the heat his frame gave off, but there was more to it. His sensors prickled, light pulses of pleasure pushing upward, lubricant slicking the walls of his valve.  
  
Sideswipe's spark skipped an arousing spin.  
  
His hips jerked, valve cycling down. Was it his imagination or was the toy getting hotter? And the tingles? They were increasing, too. Like a buzz only not because he was quite sure the toy wasn't moving or anything like that.  
  
A heavy ventilation escaped him, cooling fans sputtering as they cycled up a level, sucking in more air to cool his frame. His spike knocked hard against his panel, the clink echoing in their quarters.  
  
“Oh, he's feeling it now,” Sunstreaker said, his free hand dangling down, cupping Ratchet's interface and stroking his spike panel. Teasing Sideswipe. “Show him that other thing you got.”  
  
Sideswipe's gaze snapped up, from where it had sort of lazily drifted away as the heat in his valve grew more intense, sensor after sensor lighting up. “Other thing?”  
  
Ratchet smirked and disentangled himself from Sunstreaker's embrace. He popped another panel on his forearm, this time withdrawing a narrow-banded ring. Sideswipe was no genius, but even he could tell what it was meant for. Ratchet certainly wasn't intending to propose to him.  
  
“You've perused enough human porn to guess what I'm using this for, haven't you?” Ratchet purred, and that rolling in his vocalizer made lust spike through Sideswipe's spark.  
  
He groaned, straining against his shackles, hands forming tighter fists. “You sadist,” he moaned, valve squeezing down on the object, more tingles spreading through his interface. Heat surged, and he knew it wasn't from his internals. It had to be coming from the toy.  
  
“It's not going to hurt, ya sparkling,” Sunstreaker said and approached in tandem with Ratchet. He pressed close to Sideswipe, fingers stroking over Sideswipe's domed spike panel.  
  
Sideswipe whimpered. And yeah, he'd admit to his time. That was an honest-to-Primus whimper. His hips pushed toward his twin's hand.  
  
Sunstreaker chuckled. “Think ya should take pity on him, Ratchet. Poor thing looks like he could use a little relief.”  
  
Sideswipe offered his best, most pleading expression.  
  
Ratchet's smirk widened. “Don't you know, Sunstreaker? There's not an ounce of pity in my spark.” His free hand pushed close to Sunstreaker's, circling the edge of the panel covering Sideswipe's spike.  
  
Lubricant seeped from around the panel covering Sideswipe's valve, dripping to the berth beneath him. His spark spun faster and faster, overload threatening.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Sideswipe begged because maybe that was what Ratchet wanted to hear.  
  
Satisfaction and lust smacked into him with all the power of a gale-force wind. Ratchet did something and Sideswipe's panel popped open, his spike extending into the medic's eager fingers. Sideswipe moaned, long and low, as deft medic fingers stroked a light, arousing dance over his spike.  
  
The relief didn't last long. Sideswipe managed only a few thrusts into Ratchet's hand before the medic neatly pushed the ring onto his spike, nestling it at the very base. It fit snugly, locking into place with a magnetic burst, and the building overload abruptly stalled.  
  
Frustration mounted. Sideswipe thrashed in what limited capability he had, pleasure sparking over his frame.  
  
“That's not fair!” he cried, hips shifting and valve dribbling and interface getting hotter and hotter. It was just this shade of unbearable, mingling with the pleasure, until he couldn't tell the difference.  
  
“On the contrary,” Ratchet said as he pulled back with one last caress to Sideswipe's ringed spike. “It's quite fair.”  
  
There was a skritch of metal on metal as Sunstreaker dragged over a chair, plopping it down directly in front of the berth and throwing himself into it. “Payback, dear brother, is a bitch. As the humans would say.”  
  
Evil. Both of his mates were evil. Spawns of Unicron. From the Pit!  
  
He told them as much.  
  
Ratchet laughed outright and backpedaled until the backs of his knees hit Sunstreaker's legs. At which point Sunstreaker tugged Ratchet down until the medic straddled him, legs splayed wide so that Sideswipe could see everything.  
  
“What? Are you saying you won't enjoy the view?” Ratchet asked, shuddering as Sunstreaker's arms encircled him, one hand dipping down to grope at Ratchet's interface.  
  
Twin clicks echoed in their shared quarters. Ratchet's spike extended into Sunstreaker's hand as his panel snicked aside and Sunstreaker's other hand immediately plunged two digits into it.  
  
Ratchet arched his body, emitting a low groan, hands grabbing Sunstreaker's arms. More lust fueled Ratchet's energy field. Obviously, he'd been holding back.  
  
“You're really missing out, Sides,” Sunstreaker said in that low, intimate tone he liked to use when he really wanted to get his mates revved up. “He's so hot. So wet. Eager.” His fingers plunged deeper into Ratchet's valve, provoking another cry of pleasure.  
  
Sideswipe whined. More heat pooled in his valve. His sensors pinged back new sensations. Tingles that danced. An itch that wasn't so much an itch but a burr. A buzz. An inflammation that made his hips swivel in place, rocking back and forth, lubricant pooling and seeping from his valve.  
  
“Stop talking and start fragging already,” Ratchet said with a huff of his ventilations. He ground his hips down, dripping lubricant onto Sunstreaker's interface panel.  
  
Sunstreaker chuckled. “You sound almost as desperate as Sideswipe.” He was, however, wise enough to obey.  
  
His spike pressurized, nudging at the rim of Ratchet's valve. Sideswipe watched, optics hungry, desire spiraling inside him.  
  
Ratchet shifted his weight, adjusting his position. His vents expelled heat. Sunstreaker removed his fingers from Ratchet's valve, hand sliding up to cup Ratchet's face. Two lubricant-soaked digits traced Ratchet's lips.  
  
Sideswipe moaned as Ratchet sucked them into his mouth, glossa liberally lapping at his own lubricants. His joints creaked as he pulled at his restraints. Both of his lovers were going to pay for this.  
  
“Bet you wish you were in my place,” Sunstreaker said, a devious hum to his vocalizer. He let go of Ratchet's spike, firmly gripping the medic's hip, and thrust upward, sinking his spike into Ratchet's valve with one, smooth push. “Here. Have a taste.”  
  
Sideswipe's optics spiraled wide mere seconds before Sunstreaker opened the bond between them, pushing pulse after pulse of sensation across their link. In that instant, he could feel it, feel everything.  
  
The hot, wet swipe of Ratchet's glossa over Sunstreaker's fingers. The soaked, searing heat of Ratchet's valve as it clenched down on Sunstreaker's spike. The steady thrusting of Sunstreaker into their lover. The vibrations of Ratchet's plating, the hot ghosting of Ratchet's ex-vents.  
  
Sideswipe twitched from helm to pede, engine revving a distressed cycle.  
  
He felt it and he saw it, the steady glide of Sunstreaker's spike in and out of Ratchet's valve. The sheen of lubricant dripping from Ratchet, coating his twin's thighs.  
  
Sideswipe's own valve clenched hungrily, cycling down on the heated toy, feeling crackles of charged static dancing through his valve, through his substructure. The scent of heated metal and lubricant was thick in the air.  
  
Sunstreaker's hands worked Ratchet to a frenzy, his mouth teasing at the medic's neck cables. Their bodies moved in an erotic dance, Sideswipe's own frame twitching and rocking in tandem with them. He wanted to touch them so badly. He wanted their touch in return. His spark burned with the need.  
  
Condensation gathered on Sideswipe's armor. Overload throbbed through him but no matter how high he cycled, he couldn't fall over the edge. The ring prevented him.  
  
A moan escaped Ratchet, muffled by the fingers. He arched his body, sinking down on Sunstreaker's spike, fingers rhythmically clenching and unclenching on Sunstreaker's arms. Sideswipe knew, with a look, that the medic was close. He knew the sound of Ratchet's engine when he approached overload, the way Ratchet seemed to abandon himself to the pleasure. Optics off, lips parted, guttural sounds emerging from his vocalizer. Plating lifting to dump heat, ventilations whirring.  
  
Sideswipe worked his intake, spark swelling in his chassis.  
  
“Touch his spike,” Sideswipe said, static lacing every word. “C'mon, Sunny. Touch his spike. He needs it.”  
  
“Like I need you to tell me that,” Sunstreaker said with a huff. He abandoned his grip on Ratchet's hip, sliding down to grasp the medic's spike.  
  
Ratchet moaned, frame arched beautifully, transfluid dribbling from the tip of his spike. Sideswipe could feel how he throbbed in Sunstreaker's fingers, heated metal desperate for an overload. Ratchet's frame hummed and pulsed against Sunstreaker's; Sideswipe swore to Primus he could feel it as though he were right fragging there!  
  
Sunstreaker snapped his hips, shoving into Ratchet hard and that was all it took. The medic's entire frame rumbled, overload ripping through him, a cry spilling from his vocalizer. Ratchet spurted into Sunstreaker's grip, clamping down on the yellow twin's spike and Sideswipe could feel it. Dear, Primus could he feel it.  
  
Sideswipe whimpered, pulling at his bonds. Overload was right fragging there, just on the edge and he couldn't grasp it.  
  
Sunstreaker growled, grabbing Ratchet's pelvic array with both hands, pulling the medic down onto his spike. Ratchet shouted, valve clenching at the sudden thrust, the echoes of the sensation bombarding Sideswipe from all directions. Sunstreaker pursued his overload with single-minded determination, no doubt feeling the same frustration and desperation that Sideswipe was forced to endure.  
  
He groaned, panted, and whined when Sunstreaker finally achieved his own overload, the pleasure shooting through his twin resonating through Sideswipe as well. And yet, his own release was out of reach, kept pinned by that blasted ring! His spike ached, his valve burned, his spark throbbed... Frag them both to the Pit!  
  
Sunstreaker chuckled tiredly, nuzzling into the side of Ratchet's throat. “He's really getting frustrated.”  
  
“Serves him right,” Ratchet retorted, uncurling his fingers from their grip on Sunstreaker's arms.  
  
Sideswipe's engine gave a distressed whine as he hung his helm, vents working themselves into a frenzy. “Please,” he said, and it was frag near a croak. “Please, touch me. Please, do something. I'm dying here.”  
  
“You're not dying,” Ratchet said with an optic roll, but he gingerly extricated himself from Sunstreaker's arms, paying no mind to the mix of lubricant and transfluid that rolled down the inside of his legs.  
  
Sideswipe stared at it hungrily, well aware of the fact that berth beneath him was utterly soaked. His valve was so hot, so tingling. His hips were moving of their own accord now and he couldn't stop them. Not that he wanted to.  
  
And then a hand was on his arm, sliding over his plating, leaving curls of static in its wake and Sideswipe moaned, helm lolling.  
  
“Primus, he's practically on fire,” Sunstreaker murmured, a note of hunger in his vocalizer.  
  
“Delayed overload will do that to you,” Ratchet said, cupping Sideswipe's helm, stroking a thumb over his face.  
  
He turned his face into Ratchet's palm, lapping noisily at the medic's hand, hoping to entice his lover's to grant him some mercy.  
  
“Bet we could get any promise from you right now,” Sunstreaker said, lips rising to Sideswipe's helm, to the horns and their dense, sensor clusters. “Bet you'd say anything just to get us to touch you.”  
  
“Yes,” Sideswipe moaned. “Yes, I would. Anything.”  
  
Ratchet hummed appreciatively. “I think I like you like this. Nice and pliant and obedient.”  
  
Sideswipe spat static, words useless to him.  
  
“Well, that's one way to shut him up,” Sunstreaker commented, nuzzling against Sideswipe's helm.  
  
Ratchet dropped his hand and Sideswipe mourned the loss, but then Sunstreaker was there, kissing him, pushing his glossa into Sideswipe's mouth and claiming. He moaned into the kiss, eagerly returning it, desperate for even the slightest touch.  
  
He heard, more than saw, Ratchet move. He felt the whuff of displaced air, and then hands were on his thighs, sliding up toward his interface panel. Sideswipe's hips twitched eagerly pushing forward.  
  
Deft fingers encircled his spike. There was a click and then the ring abruptly disengaged from his spike. Sideswipe shouted into the kiss as the ring fell away and a hot, wet mouth replaced it. He bucked up hard, shoving into Ratchet's mouth, feeling the head of his spike bump against the back of Ratchet's intake.  
  
He spasmed, there was no better word for it, overload hitting him so hard that every hydraulic seized, his vents stalled, heat rising beyond the red zones, beyond what was probably safe. He threw his head back, away from the kiss, and would have screamed if his vocalizer could produce anything more than static. Pleasure flooded him from helm to pede, valve squeezing down hard on the toy, spike spurting into Ratchet's mouth.  
  
Sound rushed through his audials. He dimly felt Sunstreaker's hands on him, Ratchet's mouth, and then the blissful rush of darkness consumed him.  
  


o0o0o

  
  
Sideswipe onlined slowly, feeling warm, content, and exhausted. Also, he could use about twenty gallons of a coolant and just as many cubes of energon.  
  
His engine rumbled and before he could so much as online his optics or vocalize his desire, someone pressed a container to his lips.  
  
“Here, have some of this,” Ratchet said, his familiar tones gruff but affectionate.  
  
Sideswipe obeyed, the delicious coolant immediately pouring into his intake. As he processed it, his HUD returned several status updates. He'd been out for about an hour. He was currently lying on his back on the berth. The toy had been removed and his bindings as well. His systems still hummed from the intense overload. His panels had been closed and his frame cleaned.  
  
He had the best lovers in the world.  
  
His optics slowly onlined, his lips pulling into a smile. “Thanks, Ratch,” Sideswipe said, his vocalizer emitting a few bursts of static. Ah, not completely recovered then.  
  
“You're going to be stiff for several more hours,” the medic retorted, taking away the decanter of coolant and exchanging it for a cube of mid-grade. “Don't thank me yet.”  
  
He reached for Ratchet, trying and failing a couple of times before he succeeded. Ratchet wasn't kidding when he said he'd be stiff. None of his limbs wanted to properly respond!  
  
Still, he managed to hook his fingers around Ratchet's forearm, dragging the medic in closer. “Give me a kiss and I'll forgive ya,” Sideswipe murmured.  
  
“You're impossible,” Ratchet declared, but he obeyed anyway, bending over Sideswipe to press their lips together.  
  
Mmm. Slow and steady and everything Sideswipe loved about kissing Ratchet. A mech could get used to being pampered like this.  
  
Ratchet drew back, giving his frame a long look. “Everything check out okay? No errors? Sharp pains? Regrets?”  
  
“None to the above,” Sideswipe answered with a cheerful chirp. He lifted his helm, looking past the medic to find his twin perched in a chair, sketchpad in hand and stylus traveling over the surface.  
  
Sunstreaker always was more inspired after a particularly good bout of interfacing. No doubt he'd be getting his cuddles in later.  
  
“Good.” Ratchet stroked a hand over his helm, affection in his energy field, along with a dose of satisfaction. “So what did you learn?”  
  
Sideswipe laughed, though it was a raspy sound. “To slag you off more often?”  
  
Ratchet rolled his optics. Behind him, Sunstreaker snorted a laugh, quick to smother it when Ratchet shot him a look.  
  
“You're hopeless,” Ratchet said, and bent down to lay a kiss on Sideswipe's forehelm. “Get some recharge, slagger.”  
  
Sideswipe grinned. “Yes, dear.”  
  


***


End file.
